


Detectives and Domesticity

by Jemima_Puddleduck



Series: After The Fall [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Drug Use, F/M, John is a Good Friend, Original Female Character(s) - Freeform, PTSD John, Parentlock, Romance, Sherlock Fluff, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, Sherlock is a Good Parent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-03-05
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-09-28 14:03:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 16
Words: 14,733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10111853
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jemima_Puddleduck/pseuds/Jemima_Puddleduck
Summary: (Sequel to 'After The Fall')Sherlock has finally forgiven his wife after over a year of being apart, and now they have managed to get their relationship back on track. But now Sherlock is faced with a new problem. Juggling chores and crime scenes isn't as easy as you'd imagine...





	1. Forgiven

One Year Later - Bristol

It was late afternoon on a Saturday, and Jemima was having a relaxing day inside. It was drizzling a bit outside and dark grey clouds rolled across the sky like waves. Jemima curled up with a cup of tea to watch telly. She was renting a small flat in Bristol, and had been there since she was kicked out of Baker Street. Her friend James, who she'd known since primary school, lived nearby and Jemima wanted to stay somewhere where she knew people. For the first few weeks she hadn't even started to look for a new job. The breakup with Sherlock had hit her hard and she didn't have the heart to do things. She just sat in the flat every day, watching endless television, seemingly numb, waiting for the day when the divorce papers would drop through the letterbox. But none came. She had enough savings to survive for a while, but soon James forced her to do something about her situation, and slowly, Jemima began to rebuild herself. She'd started a new job, working at an office for a magazine company. But now it was her day off, and Jemima wanted to spend it in peaceful solitude, but it wasn't to last. The doorbell rang and she sighed loudly. She made her way to the window and had a look outside, but couldn't see anybody in the ordinary grey street below. As she turned away she caught the flash of a deep blue scarf, but when she looked again it had disappeared as if it had never been there. Jemima shook her head as she made her way to the door, convincing herself that it couldn't have been the same blue scarf that she had last seen just over a year ago. But it was.

Jemima's jaw clenched as she saw her husband standing before her on the doorstep.

"Over a year Sherlock. Over a year ago you kicked me out and you've got the nerve to find out my address and come and see me. You disgust me Sherlock Holmes." She spat at him. 

"But..." He began, looking distressed.

"No, wait." She held out a hand to stop him, her face carved into a twisted, angry smile. "I can guess why you're here. It's about divorce papers isn't it? Have you come to hand deliver them to me as some kind of sick joke? Well you can fuck off! Post them through the letterbox like a normal fucking person!" She made to close the door in his face but he tried to stutter out something. She stood with gritted teeth in the doorway, not caring if the neighbours saw.

"I'm not here about a divorce." He said simply before Jemima cut him off again.

"Oh so you've just come to shout at me then. You've had a pointless trip. You kicked me out and I felt like shit for months! I didn't want to do anything. I just wanted you. But then I got over myself!" She shouted at him. She watched as he looked up into her face from the pavement, and just for a moment, she saw real hurt in his eyes. She looked away quickly, she hated it when she saw him in pain, even now. But she quickly reminded herself that she didn't care about him anymore...But she really did. 

Jemima shook the thought from her mind and went to close the door in his face again, when his quiet voice stopped her in her tracks.

"I forgive you." He almost whispered. She stared back in disbelief, never for one moment thinking that that was what Sherlock had come to her door for.

"I just wanted you to know that." He said, before turning to walk away. Jemima stared at him from the doorway, wondering if she was just going to watch him leave. For just a single, terrifying second, she thought she was.

"No! wait! Please." She called out to him, wondering how this man always managed to make her come running back every time, even after a year. 

"What?" He asked, turning back.

"I'm sorry." She said. 

"It's alright. I know you were only trying to protect me from the truth. Just don't lie to me again." He said.

"I'm sorry." Jemima repeated. "I won't lie. I should have told you about it I should have...."

She stopped mid-sentance, watery eyes overflowing and choking on sobs. Sherlock stepped forward and put a comforting hand on Jemima's shoulder rather than hugging her, not sure if he was totally forgiven by her just yet. Then she suddenly threw her arms around him.

"I'm sorry too." He said quietly into her ear. "I was too hard on you and I regret it."

"It's fine." She replied, and Sherlock could tell from her voice that she was grinning. "It course it's fine you utterly stupid man." 

"Stupid, am I?" Sherlock smiled, pulling back from the hug slightly and raising an eyebrow at her questioningly.

"Definitely." She smiled, and pulled him into a kiss for the first time in over a year. Their lips gently locked together, like two lost pieces of a jigsaw puzzle finally reunited.


	2. Back to Baker Street

Jemima took no time moving back into Baker Street. She hadn't realised how much she'd really missed her husband. Everyone was glad to have her back, John told Jemima that he'd refused to speak to Sherlock for over a month and it had almost driven him insane.  
According to John, Sherlock had written piece after piece of angry music and Mrs Hudson had begun to worry about him, until one day it had changed to soft, sad, lamenting music and Sherlock had left without a word. A few days later Jemima was back in Baker Street like nothing had happened. As always, Mycroft seemed to have already known that Jemima would end up coming back. He didn't seem surprised at all when she reappeared.

\---------------------------------

Jemima was unpacking her things in the bedroom when she sensed somebody behind her. Sherlock stood in the doorway, watching her. He walked over to help and began taking things out of the box, their hands gently brushing each other as they worked. Jemima took out the last thing , her small, wooden trinket box and found a crumpled up piece of paper beneath it. Before she could grab it Sherlock had unfolded it and was staring at it with a look in his eyes that Jemima didn't recognise. It was the photo of the both of them when they were teenagers. Before everything went wrong.

"You know, I'm getting an urge to call you Bea." Sherlock smiled slightly. 

Jemima reached over and took the photo from his hands. "No. I'm not Bea anymore. I want to forget her. The only reason I kept the photo was because of you. I'm ashamed of who I was then so don't talk to me about it." She told him sternly. She turned away from him and put the photo in her box.

"Look at me." Sherlock said. He took one of her hands in his as they knelt on the floor. His other hand cupped her cheek to make sure she was looking. "You were just as beautiful a person then as you are now, there's no need to be ashamed. If you weren't a good person I wouldn't have fallen in love with you twice."

"But I left you." She said quietly.

"I know. I forgave you, remember?" He smiled and she nodded at him to show she understood. He took the photo gently from her hands and left the room with it. He soon returned with some BluTack and stuck it to the wall in their bedroom.

"There's no need to be ashamed of who you are or who you have been. I love you, whatever name you decide to use." He told her gently.

"Thank you. I love you too." She smiled back.

Sherlock looked at the boxes with a frown, then back at his wife.

"Do you think this can wait?" He said.

"Why?" She asked. He replied with a passionate kiss. Jemima sank into his embrace, not realising how much she'd really missed it. She paused for a second and pulled back.

"This can definitely wait." She told him and kissed him back harder. They tumbled over onto the floor, giggling like schoolchildren, wrapped in each other's arms.


	3. Expecting the Unexpected

The sound of hurried padding of feet drifted from the hallway of 221B Baker Street. Jemima ran clumsily into the bathroom, still in her early morning daze. She had been rudely awoken by a bout of bad nausea and as she closed the door behind her, she promptly emptied the contents of her stomach into the toilet. She hoped she hadn't woken anybody up as Mary and John had stayed over the night. The tap spluttered water into the sink and Jemima quickly washed her face, brushed her teeth and padded back out again, being as quiet as possible. Mary leant against the wall outside, arms folded over her simple red pyjama top.

"That's every day this week so far." She said from her nonchalant position, one eyebrow raised. Jemima almost jumped out of her skin.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" She asked, doubled over as if she had been winded, trying to recover from the shock.

"Get dressed." She replied forcefully.

"Nope." Jemima said, turning on her heel and walking away. "I'm going back to bed."

Mary quickly stopped her. 

"No way; you're getting dressed and coming with me. There's something we need to buy." Mary said, retreating towards her own bedroom to get dressed.

'What?" Jemima asked.

"A pregnancy test." Replied Mary simply.

"Nope. Nope nope nope." Jemima said, eyes wide. "I'm definitely going back to bed. You've lost your mind."

"I work in a doctor's surgery." Mary said with a patronising look on her face. 

Jemima's shoulders slumped as she admitted defeat. There was no point arguing, Mary always got her way. Her friend smirked and retreated back to the room she was sharing with John, while Jemima went back to hers and swiftly pulled on the first outfit she found in her drawers and chucked her hair into a ponytail. When she came to the door, Mary was already there.

"I'm only doing this to appease you." Jemima warned. "It'll come up negative."

Mary said nothing and dragged her outside.

\-----------------------------

It was only when they were taking the short tube train journey home that Jemima began to worry. She carried the test in her handbag, the leather handle digging into her shoulder as the car shuddered along the tracks. Most people stay quiet on the tube, giving Jemima an opportunity to think about what would happen if she was pregnant. How would she tell Sherlock? How would he react? Would he kick her out again? 

Mary suddenly took her hand, a frown etched on her face. Jemima relaxed as she felt her friend's warm, comforting hand on hers. 

"You okay?" Mary asked her. "You look ill."

"No I'm fine." She replied hastily, jumping up to get out of the train as the doors slid open with a metallic clunk. 

They scurried through the station, carried along the tunnels by the swarm of early rush hour commuters. Personal space invaded, they were pushed up the escalator by the suited workers, briefcases digging into their backs. After all the shoving they were unceremoniously spat out into the the street. Jemima went slightly ahead, picking her way along the pavement back to Baker Street. Mary ran just behind to keep up with Jemima's demanding pace. They quickly reached the door of 221B and rushed inside. A small post-it note was stuck to Jemima's laptop.

John and I are on a case, back soon with information. -SH

Mary took the test from Jemima's handbag and handed it to her.

"He's not here." She said. "Might as well do it now."

She received the test with shaking hands and rushed into the bathroom to use it. There was the usual wait to confirm the results and Mary waited outside with bated breath. Jemima sat on the edge of the bath, seemingly in limbo. She was drifting, not knowing what to do with herself. She didn't think she was cut out for motherhood, children had always appealed to her but she'd never really considered having any of her own. She wanted the test results, yet she didn't. It was torture. 

Finally, it was done; and the test clattered to the floor.

Jemima ran from the bathroom and back into the bedroom, slamming the door behind her. Mary already knew what that meant, she checked the test to prove it and saw the two little pink lines. Running to the slammed door, she could hear Jemima behind it. Muffled sobs drifted through the crack in the door. Mary sat down on the floor outside, feeling helpless.

\-------------------------

Jemima leant against the door heavily, unable to see through the torrent of tears pouring down her cheeks. Sherlock would kick her out again for sure. He hated children, he couldn't deal with children. She'd only just got back to him and now she was going to lose him all over again. In her hysteria, she wobbled over to the bed and promptly collapsed onto it, as if she was a puppet who'd had her strings snapped in two. She crumpled and grabbed her pillow, muffling her sobs, not wanting anybody to hear her shame. She should have been more careful. Her breaths came in broken, ragged gasps. She felt like she was drowning under it all; she was lost in a sea of uncertainty. She heard the door slam and recognised her husband's drifting footsteps across the flat. Fear pierced her like a knife and she shot from the bed. Running to the mirror, she hurriedly wiped the tears from her cheeks as she tried to calm herself. Sherlock couldn't know. Not yet. Her face was still red and puffy, her cheeks blotched and her eyes swollen. Jemima plastered on her fake smile, knowing full well that it wouldn't get past Sherlock. She took a shuddering breath and put a shaking hand on the door handle.

\-------------------------

"Hi there!" Jemima grinned cheesily as she popped round the corner. John smiled back, but Sherlock didn't return her beaming grin. His face fell when he saw her.

"What's wrong?" He asked, stony-faced.

"Nothing! Why would there be?" She replied, sauntering over to him confidently and slinking an arm around his waist, pulling him closer.

"You're keeping something from me I know it. I can see it in your eyes. Something's happened." He said, taking her hand. Jemima pulled it away before he could take her pulse, her heart was racing with fear. Her face wasn't cheery anymore.

"Sherlock, I'm fine." She assured him in a gentle, loving voice, regaining her composure and looking deep into his distrusting eyes. She enveloped him in a hug and he was taken aback by her grip. It was different from usual, he noticed. She was gripping him tightly, too tightly, as of she was desparately trying to hold on. He suddenly realised that she'd used the hug to hide her face and quickly pulled back from her. She stared at him with obvious panic in her eyes. 

"You're lying to me." He told her simply. Before she could protest, he continued. "I want to help you. Tell me. Please."

"I can't." Jemima choked out. Tears started to roll down her cheeks and she clutched Sherlock's arm desparately. "I can't tell you."

Sherlock steadied her shaking hand with his and looked her in the eye. "Tell me."

She let out a few shuddering breaths and told him, in an almost whisper,

"Sherlock." She paused, taking deep breaths to calm herself.

"I'm pregnant."

Her husband's hand dropped away from hers in shock and he turned his back. She broke down again and sunk to the floor, believing the worst. She would be out of Baker Street again by the end of the day. Putting her head in arms as she sat, collapsed on the floor, she sobbed despairingly.

Suddenly, she felt someone crouch down in front of her shivering form. A warm hand gently lifted her head from her arms, and Sherlock kissed her full on the lips. She fell into him, still crying, his arms wrapped around her.

"There's no need to be scared." He whispered. "I love you." 

"I thought you would hate me." She sobbed.

"Never." He replied, gripping her tighter.

"So it's good news then." She said quietly.

"The best." Sherlock replied, unable to hold back his grin.


	4. Partying and Tickles

When Sherlock and Jemima were ready, they decided to throw a small party. Well, she did, and he objected.

Mrs Hudson brought some refreshments and joined them. Mycroft, John, Molly, Lestrade, Mr and Mrs Holmes and Mary were all there. They were all surprised that Sherlock genuinely wanted to go through with it, but not much attention was paid to him anyway. Everyone crowded round Jemima and she chatted excitedly with all of them, playing the perfect host. Mrs Holmes was sharing parenting horror stories, which seemed to scare Molly more than Jemima, who just laughed them off. Mrs Hudson couldn't contain her excitement and couldn't stop moving, enthusiastically grabbing drinks for everyone in sight with a permanent cheery smile. Mrs Holmes quietly broke away from the group to where Sherlock was standing back in a corner, looking on. His brother did the same across the room, neither son wanting to join the party.

"I'm so proud of you." She gushed, grabbing her son's arm and beaming at him. She never thought that either of her sons would ever marry, let alone have kids, so she'd never expected the grandchildren she so wanted. Sherlock couldn't help but feel just a little bit proud.

"Thank you mother." He replied with a grin almost as wide as hers. 

"You'll need to come and see us as soon as the baby is born." She told him firmly. "No objections. Promise?"

"I promise mother." Sherlock replied, rolling his eyes at her. She planted a kiss on his forehead and he quickly shot a glance at Lestrade, who, unfortunately for Sherlock, had seen everything. Sherlock quickly pushed his mother away and she cheerily went and rejoined the party.

Sherlock saw his brother excuse himself and go into the kitchen to take a call. Anticipating Mycroft quickly leaving to do some important government work, he stationed himself by the door. As Mycroft inevitably made to leave he spotted Sherlock.

"I have to go." He said.

"I know." Sherlock replied.

"Are you sure you really want to go through with this?" Mycroft said in a whisper, looking at Jemima. She was talking animatedly to Molly, something she said made them both burst into fits of giggles. 

"Yes brother, I'm sure." Sherlock told him firmly.

"I do have ways of...eliminating the problem." Mycroft said delicately. Sherlock stared him down reproachfully.

"No. I want this. I actually do, want this." Sherlock said to his brother's great surprise. "Also, I've already told mother and she'd be heartbroken if I had to tell her that Jemima had had a miscarriage."

"Ahh." Mycroft smiled patronisingly. "Ever the doting mummy's boy."

"Shut up Mycroft." Sherlock glared at him.

"But imagine it. The noise, the nappies, the sleepless nights. You're not the type." Mycroft said, emphasising each point.

"No brother, certainly not, but I can deal with it." Sherlock assured him.

"You really want this, don't you?" Mycroft said, a look of surprise and softness in his eyes that didn't cross there often.

"Yes, I think I do." Sherlock replied quietly.

"Well, on your own head be it, but at least you understand what you're diving into." Mycroft said, turning to leave. He paused in the doorway and looked back. "Anyway, brother mine, love suits you."

And with that, Mycroft left his brother in the doorway, glowing with pride, a stunned smile plastered on his face.

\------------------------------

Later on, a fully exhausted Sherlock and Jemima collapsed onto their bed. She curled up into a ball, as she always did, and he curled up around her protectively. She smiled in her half-asleep state as she felt his hands drift to her stomach.

"What are you thinking?" She mumbled sleepily.

"That it's amazing that it's possible for a baby to be growing inside you right now." He said, a degree of awe in his voice.

"Awh, you've gone all soppy Sherlock." She teased playfully. His gentle hands turned into aggressive tickling weapons and she doubled up with uncontrollable giggles.

"That's what you get for teasing me." He said, unrelenting, as his wife squirmed under his grip.

"Nooo stop! Noooooo!" She whined in between giggles. She slapped Sherlock away with a free hand and he finally showed her mercy. She cuddled back into him, sighing happily as peace returned.

"I can't help but be a bit excited." He admitted. "I'm sure my brother thinks I'm insane for going through with it."

"Just for the record, I'm fucking terrified." Jemima mumbled into the pillow.

"You'll be fine." Sherlock's reassuring voice whispered in her ear. "I know you'll be a brilliant mother. Now get some rest."

"Mmmmnn." She replied sleepily as fatigue started to take over. Sherlock's warm hands returned to her stomach and he smiled to himself as he imagined the tiny life growing just underneath his fingers.


	5. Reassurance

Jemima was now two months along in her pregnancy. She hadn't yet developed a bump, but the strains of her situation were all too visible to John. He was worried about her. Over the past few days her mood had suddenly changed, from merely apprehensive to overly cheerful. He took this as a bad sign. Whenever Jemima was too cheerful, she was hiding something else, and even worse, it was something she wasn't going to let on to anybody else. He could tell she was struggling to come to terms with having a baby, but he didn't know how to help her.

He heard her whining loudly at Sherlock when he entered Baker Street one morning. She was standing at the top of the stairs with her hands on her hips and a stubborn expression on her face. Sherlock stood at the bottom of the staircase, arms folded tightly across his chest, staring right back up at her. 

"For god's sake Sherlock!" She exclaimed angrily, stamping her foot like a spoilt child. She was dressed in a warm coat and scarf like Sherlock, but if he got his way she wasn't really going to need it.

"I can't take you with me, you're pregnant." He stayed simply. "It's dangerous."

"Dangerous my arse." She protested. "The murderer's gone Sherlock! That's kinda the point of going to a crime scene!" 

He ignored her point and glanced over a John. He grabbed his friend's arm and swept out of the door, slamming it behind him.

\--------------------------------------

A body lay in the middle of a dank London car park, surrounded by glitter for reasons that were hitherto undiscovered. Sherlock Holmes was crouched in front of it, a concentrated look on his face. John looked up from the body and saw Jemima waltzing into the crime scene.

"Shit." He muttered to himself as he watched his friend waking up to them with a grin on her face.

"Hi!" She called out cheerfully, waving at them both. Sherlock quickly pulled her aside.

"What the hell are you doing here?" He asked her through gritted teeth. She opened her mouth to speak but before she could utter a syllable, Sherlock spoke again. "Never mind. I don't care about your excuses, just go."

He turned his back on her coldly and let her walk away. John intercepted her before she could leave.

"Are you okay?" He asked her quietly. "You're acting up, is something wrong?"

"I promise you. I'm fine." She said.

"I don't believe you." He said simply.

"Why not?" She asked, still smiling as if to show just how fine she was.

"You've bitten your nails again." He observed. She quickly snatched them out of his sight.

"It means nothing. No need to worry. Just a bad habit." She assured him. John frowned at her.

"Jem, last time you bit your nails like that we were being shot at in Afghanistan!" He snapped. "For once stop being so stoic and just admit that you're scared! We want to help you for god's sake!"

"Fine! I'm scared. I admit it." She said, her mask of happiness gone to reveal only fear. "I just wanted to go back to normal so I can just stop worrying. Being shut up in the house all day gives me nothing to do but think about what's going to happen."

"It's natural to be scared, but you're brave. Remember?" He took her by the shoulders and looked into her eyes with a comforting smile. "I admit, it will be difficult at times , but you'll get past it and be an amazing parent. I know it." 

"Thanks John." She smiled warmly. 

"No problem. I'll text you all the details and you can make a start at Baker Street." He smirked.

"I'll have it solved by the time Sherlock gets home." She promised, ducking under the line of police tape.


	6. Hello Baby

Jemima was running for her life, gunshots rang out all around her and people were shouting commands as they tried to navigate the path. The hard, sandy ground raced beneath her pounding feet. She could feel her heart slamming into her ribcage as she picked up the pace. Suddenly, the ground ripped apart underneath her and exploded. She was flung backwards in a hail of smoke and dust as onlookers screamed. As she hit the floor the image disintegrated and she sat up, crying and grappling for air in her own bedroom in 221B. Through her tears, she saw a blurry image of her husband, sleeping peacefully next to her. She sighed, defeated, as she realised she wasn't going to go back to sleep. 

She padded out of the bedroom with bare feet to the nursery they begun to decorate with the permission of Mrs Hudson. She looked around it in the dark, her eyes straining to get accustomed to the dim light. It was a work in progress, a flatpack cot sat in its box at the side of the room, waiting to be built. On one half of the room, new paint snaked up the walls, on the other, old wallpaper hung limply. She flicked on the light switch and she smiled at the room her child would one day sleep in. Her eyes fell on a packet of glow in the dark stars for the ceiling and on a whim she decided to stick them up. She very quietly got a chair to balance on, being careful not to wake her husband, and balanced on it to stick them to the ceiling. Her small bump showed as she stretched up to attach them. 

Sherlock drifted from a peaceful sleep as he heard noises coming from another room. He realised that his wife wasn't beside him in the bed and he assumed that she'd had a nightmare. It had been happening more and more since she became pregnant. He wandered through the flat to find her and heard a small noise coming from the nursery. He pushed open the door to find his pregnant wife balancing precariously from a chair in the middle of the room. She jumped out of her skin at the sight of him and almost fell. He marched over and pulled her down.

"What the fuck are you doing?" He asked in an angry whisper, conscious that Mrs Hudson was still sleeping downstairs.

"Decorating." She replied with a shrug. 

"At half one in the morning? On a chair?" He said, arms folded.

"Yep. Got a problem?" She said, making to get back on the chair. Sherlock abruptly pulled her back again.

"Yes, I do. You could seriously injure yourself and the baby." He said, concerned. 

"I'm sorry, I couldn't sleep." She admitted.

"Another nightmare?" He asked, stroking her arm comfortingly.

"Yeah." She replied, hanging her head slightly. 

Sherlock took her in his arms and she breathed in his comforting scent as his warmth surrounded her. She rested her head lightly on his chest and heart his strong heartbeat pounding in her ears. He planted an affectionate kiss on her forehead and she sighed gently.

"Let's go back to bed." He whispered. He led her back to the bedroom and made sure she was comfortable. He curled himself around her protectively and she felt safe enough to start drifting off back to sleep. As she lay there half asleep she was suddenly jolted awake again. At first she didn't realise why, but then she felt it, a small fluttering sensation in her stomach. She held her breath, waiting for it to happen again, almost believing that she'd imagined it but a few seconds later the baby moved again. 

"Hello." She whispered nervously, one hand on her stomach over the place where she'd felt it. In answer, a small flutter. She smiled, truly comprehending for the first time that there really was a baby growing inside her. Sherlock stirred behind her.

"Did you have another nightmare?" He asked, wrapping his arms around her.

"No." She said "Here." 

She guided his hand towards her stomach and rested it gently over the place where their baby was. At first he looked slightly confused as he tried to understand, in his sleepy state, what she was doing. His brows crinkled into a frown as he concentrated and then suddenly his eyes lit up with wonder. He grinned like a school boy and Jemima smiled with him.

"You feel it?" She asked. He nodded in reply, not looking away from her stomach.

"That's your baby in there." She whispered, putting her hand over his. His grin just stretched wider in reply. 

Jemima shuffled around a bit and Sherlock curled around her again. He began to drift off to sleep again, feeling the movements of his child , who was very much awake and he utterly refused to let go.


	7. The Case of the Faulty Instruction Manual

John was slightly apprehensive as he dragged a large cardboard box into the flat. He looked down at the flatpack cot and sighed, wondering why he'd ever agreed to it in the first place. He shoved the box into the half-completed nursery where Sherlock stood waiting. 

"Brilliant!" Sherlock said, springing on the box and ripping it open. The instructions lay helpfully at the top of the box, waiting to be read. Sherlock took no time in chucking the manual over his shoulder. John sighed loudly as he did, knowing it was going to be a very long day.

Jemima woke up from a nap on the sofa. Gentle beams of sunlight shone through the gap in the curtains, hurting her eyes. She heard a muffled noise from the nursery before a shout from her husband.

"For God's sake John!" Sherlock shouted.

"I'm doing it right Sherlock! It's your fault that it looks like that! Don't you ever read the instructions?" John shouted back.

"The instructions are wrong John! Can't you see that? I trust my own judgement more than a piece of paper!" He spat out.

There was some loud shuffling from inside as Jemima listened intently at the door. Then a loud click .

"Ah-ha!" John shouted jubilantly. "I told you the instructions were right!"

Jemima could almost hear Sherlock's sulking from outside. She opened the door and walked in, casually leaning against the doorframe with one hand on her bump. Both men looked up at her as she entered, pieces of unassembled cot lay scattered around the room like shrapnel.

"You boys having fun?" She said sarcastically.

"This is awful." Sherlock stated. 

"Only because you won't follow the bloody instructions!" John exclaimed. 

"Fine. We'll do it your way." He replied sulkily.

"Thank you." John said, his frustration subsiding.

"I'll leave you to it then." Jemima said with a laugh before leaving to make them some coffee.

Less than two minutes after her departure, Jemima heard the shouting begin again and she giggled to herself.

\------------------------------

"Jemima!" Came a shout from inside the unfinished nursery. 

"Coming!" She shouted back. 

She walked into the nursery to find the simple cot fully assembled in front of her. Sherlock looked at her with an anxious smile, waiting for her reaction. 

"It's brilliant!" She smiled, giving if a quick inspection. "You boys have done great job!"

"It wasn't so difficult after all, was it?" Sherlock smiled.

"I think you and I will remember this experience very differently." John replied grumpily. "Remind me to never do this with you ever again."

"I'll add it to the list. Cooking, tennis, Cluedo and now, building flatpack furniture." Sherlock noted.

"It's definitely on the list." John confirmed.

"Sounds like it was a good bonding experience." Jemima interjected. John shot her a disgruntled look.

Sherlock walked over to her and hugged her from behind, wrapping his arms around her bump and resting his chin comfortably on her shoulder.

"Do you think the baby will like it?" Jemima asked.

"She'll love it." He replied softly.

"She?" Jemima questioned.

"Ah. That may have been one deduction too many." Sherlock looked sheepish and released himself from around her. 

"How could you possibly know that?" She asked him.

"Well actually it's obvious when you think about it." Sherlock said.

"So, we're going to have a daughter." Jemima said.

"Yes. Well, 98% sure." Sherlock told her.

"Good enough for me!" Jemima replied cheerfully, clearly excited about having a baby girl.

"Hm. It is good isn't it." Sherlock said, cracking a smile and pulling her to his side.

"Better come up with some names then." John interjected.

"I'm on the case." Sherlock grinned. 

He turned to look at the cot, then at his wife and her baby bump and couldn't help feeling excited about what was to come. A new chapter of his life was beginning, one he never thought was ever going to happen, and he couldn't wait.


	8. Into Battle

Jemima and Sherlock were walking though the vast supermarket. Jemima carried a basket in one hand and Sherlock's hand in the other. They ignored shelf after shelf of various food products, their garish branding jumping out at them as they passed. The baby section loomed. An unassuming, small corner of the shop packed full to the brim with baby clothes, nappies, bottles and all sorts of gadgets promising to make a new parent's life easier. 

Jemima swallowed hard as they got to the first shelf of newborn baby-grows.  Seeing it there in front of her just made it seem all the more real. She was still terrified at the prospect of being a mother and found it difficult looking at all the new mums parading around her, almost glowing with pride. They all made it look so easy, she thought. She reached out and felt the tiny cotton foot of the outfit gingerly, as if it were going to explode. The harsh fluorescent bulbs above her seemed to beat down on her, burning through her, shining a spotlight on all her faults, showing the other mums that she wasn't good enough. 

Jemima snapped back to reality as she felt her husband's gentle fingers slide up her wrist. They pressed down carefully over her veins and she saw concern flicker in Sherlock's face as he felt her racing pulse. He said nothing but gave her hand a comforting squeeze. She managed to get herself together enough to choose some outfits.

"What about this?" She asked with a smirk, holding up a tiny t-shirt with the words 'world's #1 dad' emblazoned on the front in a garish font. Sherlock's frown of disapproval was enough to send her into giggles.

"I think this one is more sensible." He replied, showing her a onesie with a small bumblebee embroidered on the front.

Jemima was looking at some of the other clothes and absent-mindedly stroking her bump when a new mum pushing a tiny baby in a pram walked past and gave her a warm smile. Jemima knew that she meant well and smiled back, but the thoughts about not being a good enough mother started to flood back to her again, plunging her into a whirlpool of self-doubt. She dropped the onesie that she'd been holding and started to feel dizzy. Sherlock immediately came behind her. He scooped the onesie from off the floor and put it back on the rack before coming to her side. She tensed up as he touched her.

"What's wrong?" He asked gently, staring into her eyes with concern.

"Nothing, I'm fine. Just a bit dizzy. It's probably dehydration, I'll get a bottle of water in a minute." She said quickly, trying to sound calm. Sherlock didn't reply, but just slid his fingers up her wrist again. Jemma's frantic heartbeat betrayed her.

"What's wrong?" Sherlock repeated, more firmly this time. He took both her hands in his and waited for her reply.

"I'm still scared." She admitted shamefully, hanging her head.

"Hey." Sherlock said, gently tilting her head up to meet his gaze. She fixed her eyes on his. "You shouldn't be scared. I promise you, Mrs Holmes, you will be a brilliant mother." 

"How am I supposed to know what to do? I never had a mother to set an example for me." She said.

"You'll know, and if you don't we can figure it out together. It's just as new for me as it is for you, and we'll work as a team to make this work. Whatever it takes." He told her comfortingly.

"You promise it'll be fine?" She asked.

"I promise." He replied before pulling her into a hug. He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her close, protecting her from the world and the prying eyes of the pretentious mothers around them.

She quickly calmed down and they went to pay. She stroked her bump proudly when the cashier congratulated them and Sherlock wrapped an arm around her waist. She felt a whole lot better by the time they sat down in the taxi with the new baby clothes.


	9. Apricots and Cookie Dough Ice Cream

"Sherlock!" Jemima shouted cheerfully through 221B. 

"What is it? I'm busy!" Sherlock shouted back from the kitchen.

"Baby needs cookie dough ice cream and apricots!" Jemima replied.

"At the same time?" Sherlock asked, wrinkling his nose at the idea.

"Yup!"

"Ask Mrs Hudson! I'm working!" He said grumpily. He went back to his microscope, analysing some evidence from a crime scene. 

"Already did!" She shouted to him from her comfy spot on the sofa. "I shouted and she didn't answer!"

Sherlock sighed deeply and reluctantly dragged himself away from his microscope. "Fine." 

\------------------------------------

Sherlock was soon back with Jemima's favourite cookie dough ice cream and some fresh apricots. His wife was lying down on the sofa, resting with her feet up and her eyes closed. 

"I got them" He said, dumping them onto the coffee table and going back to his microscope. 

"Thanks, but I can't reach them." She said, feebly waving her hand in the direction of the food.

"You have legs." He replied, eyes on his work. 

"Sherlock!" She whined pitifully. 

Sherlock sighed again and walked over to her. She looked up at him with big puppy eyes and a child's sulky pout. 

"Can you feed me the ice cream?" She asked in a tiny voice. 

"Surely you can do that yourself."

"I'm tired." She whined again. "I didn't sleep last night."

Sherlock have her a sideways look. "Did you have another nightmare?"

She nodded and he sighed again. Without saying anything else he went to the kitchen and grabbed a spoon before coming back and pulling up a seat next to the sofa. He prised open the lid of the ice cream and carefully fed her a mouthful.

"Yummy." She smiled at him adoringly. "Thank you."

"You know, you should wake me when you have nightmares like that. I can help you." He said, getting another spoonful.

"I'd feel bad for waking you, there's not much point in trying, I'll just have another one after I go back to sleep." She admitted.

"I don't care, just wake me. You promise?" He said, refusing to give her the spoonful until she agreed.

"I promise." She replied. 

"Good." He smiled, giving her an apricot.

"These are really good." She said with a mouthful.

Sherlock didn't reply, he was zoned out, starring into nothing. Jemima watched Sherlock as he looked right at her bulging stomach with a contemplative expression on his face. She reached out a hand and wrapped it around his, which was limply hanging by his side. She stroked his palm gently with her thumb and smiled lovingly at him.

"Penny for your thoughts." She said softly.

"What do you think she'll be like?" He said, still gazing at her stomach.

"I'm really not sure, there's so many possibilities of how she could turn out and we could never say for sure." She said. "We just have to take things as they come."

"Mmm." He replied, still not totally focused.

"Also, are you properly sure that it's going to be a girl?" Jemima asked.

"Really sure." He said.

"How do you know?" She interrogated. 

"Spoilers." He said smugly.

Jemima just sighed and dropped the subject. She lay back and closed her eyes for a moment, keeping hold of Sherlock's hand. She felt Sherlock move next to her and attempt to lie on the sofa with her.

"You can't get on here!" She said, swatting him away as he grinned. "I'm too fat, I'll crush you!"

"Watch me." He replied.

By some miracle, he managed to squeeze himself onto the sofa and he lay in her arms, their bodies entwined. He lay so he was facing her and reached a hand up to stroke any stray hairs from her face. His other hand was placed gently on her bump, waiting for a sign from his child. 

"Over here." Jemima whispered, guiding his hand to the place where their baby was moving. Sherlock's eyes lit up with happiness and wonder as they always did when he felt the gentle fluttering. 

He relaxed into her embrace and closed his eyes, contented and exhausted. He had forgotten how much sleep he'd missed over the past few days. He liked to be there when Jemima slept, so if she woke up after one of her inevitable nightmares, she be right there in his arms. 

"Sherlock! Inspector Lestrade is on the phone..." Mrs Hudson said, bustling into the room and trailing off as she saw the couple fast asleep on the old sofa. She smiled warmly at them and creeped back out quietly.

"I'll tell him you're busy." She whispered.


	10. The Dress Rehearsal

Jemima waddled into the living room in her slippers and dressing gown, her large bump stretched out in front of her. It was a chill November morning, and as she looked out of the window she could see the last night's frost glittering on the pavement. Sherlock was already busy composing music for the violin. It was a beautiful tune, soft and delicate. It seemed to effortlessly weave its way around the room, filling every crack and crevice with its sweet melody. Sherlock swayed as he drew the bow across the strings, getting totally lost in the music and almost not realising that Jemima had woken up at all.

"Morning." She smiled at him after he'd finished. "That was beautiful, I haven't heard that one before." 

"I'm still working on it." He said.

"It's not your usual style." She commented, wrapping her arms around his waist.

"It's for the baby." He said, not looking up.

He broke out of her embrace and launched into a new section of the piece that he'd just noted down. 

"You know, the baby can probably hear it. Babies hear a lot of stuff before they're born." She told him over the soft music. He paused his playing to change something on his music notation.

"I know, that's why I'm playing it now." He smiled, putting down his pencil and resuming playing. 

"This child is going to have very refined tastes." Jemima smiled, rubbing her bump.

"I suppose so." He replied, staring out of the window as he played.

Jemima walked over and sat down heavily on the arm of Sherlock's armchair. They looked out at the city together, a perfect frosty scene. The music drifted all around, soft, yet joyful. 

"Do you think the baby will come at Christmas?" She asked, absent-mindedly painting swirls on her stomach with her index finger. 

"There's about a 8.6% chance of it happening on Christmas Day, so probably not." He told her.

"Way to crush my hopes and dreams." She laughed. "I'm going to get breakfast, want anything?"

"No thank you." He replied.

Jemima pottered over to the kitchen and put the kettle on, it glowed with a blue light as he water bubbled ferociously. She put some bread in the toaster and hung around, waiting for it to cook. While she waited, she grabbed a mug from the cupboard for her tea and promptly smashed it on the floor as she doubled up in pain.

"Sherlock!" She shouted, frightened at the sudden intense pain in her abdomen. Her husband was immediately by her side, his arms around her, holding her.

"What's happening? Are you okay, what happened?" He said quickly.

"I don't know it just- agghh!" She cut her herself off, crying out in pain and clutching onto Sherlock. "It just started out of nowhere!"

"It's too early to be happening now." He told her. "Keep calm, we're going to get you to the hospital." 

Jemima nodded weakly and allowed herself to be led out by Sherlock, leaning heavily on him for support. He quickly flagged down a taxi for them outside and helped her into it. She kept wincing in pain, burying her face in his shoulder and moaning.

They walked into the A&E of the nearest hospital. The stark white interior harshly reflected the artificial strip lights above. The smell of disinfectant reminded Jemima of the army hospital and she had to fight to resist her strong urge to be sick.

She was immediately rushed to a private room, with a nurse there ready to check her over.

"It shouldn't be happening now." She mumbled. "It's too soon."

"It's okay." The nurse said gently. "There are things we can do to stop it and since you've got here quickly, it shouldn't be a problem." 

"Are you sure?" Jemima asked feebly.

"Yes I'm sure. You and the baby are going to be just fine." The nurse said reassuringly.

\--------------------------

Half an hour later and the pains had begun to dissipate. The medicine slowly flowing into her arm through a drip had slowed down everything and the baby had stayed right where it should be. 

Jemima lay on her side in the hospital bed, one hand reaching from under the blanket to take Sherlock's. They were both still a bit dazed after the sudden emergency, but both were relieved that it had been dealt with. 

"I've never felt pain like it before." Jemima mumbled to Sherlock. "It wasn't the worst I've ever had, but it was different somehow." 

"Are you scared about the real birth?" He asked her.

"A bit. Yeah." She mumbled. 

Sherlock looked down at his wife. She'd been a soldier and almost had both of her legs amputated, and yet here she was, weak and frightened. He remembered the day she'd been shot. The immense pain on her face, the cuts and bruises everywhere and the nightmares that still hadn't quite faded. Sherlock knew that his wife was made of strong stuff but he also knew that he had to be there for her and make sure that she realised that she could do it.

"You're strong. Stronger than anyone I've ever known. You've been through worse than this and you can deal with it. It will be tough, but in the end it will all be worth it." He smiled, giving her a small kiss on the forehead.

"You're not the one having to push out a baby." She grumbled. "At least she's staying put for now."

"Yes, it looks like she's out to break all the rules already." He laughed.


	11. Remember Remember...

"Remember remember the fifth of November..." Sherlock mumbled, tapping on the desk absent-mindedly.

Jemima's face fell as she realised what day it was. "Really? I forgot it was today. It seems to have come around quickly."

"Are you alright?" Sherlock asked. "You look worried."

"I'm fine, just feeling a bit sick." She said. "I think I'll go to bed early actually, I haven't had much sleep."

"Okay." Sherlock replied, still looking a bit concerned. "Call me if you need anything."

"I will, night." 

"Goodnight."

Jemima hurried into the bedroom and changed into her pyjamas. She was eager to go to bed and fall asleep before the fireworks started outside or she knew she wouldn't sleep at all. 

\-----------------------

A loud bang shook Jemima from her sleep. The fireworks had begun. Her heart raced at the noise and images of explosions, gunshots and wounded soldiers filled her head. 

Another loud firework sounded off and Jemima gripped the bedsheets until her knuckles went white. Her hands shook and her palms were sweaty as panic began to set in. With the next loud bang, she called out.

"Sherlock!" She shouted frantically. He came racing to the bedroom and immediately came to her side. He saw that she was having a panic attack and took the usual position that he did when she was like this. He pulled her close with one arm, pulling her head close to his chest to help block out any noise. He put his other hand gently around her wrist, taking her pulse to know when she'd calmed down. 

"Shh." He whispered gently in her ear. "I'm here now. It's okay. You're safe here."

He rocked her gently backwards and forwards like a baby. The motion relaxed her and her heart rate slowed somewhat, but she was still in a very bad way. Another firework sounded through the flat and she started shaking in his arms. Sherlock was used to helping her when she was like this, she always called for him when she felt like she was panicking because she knew that he could always calm her down.

Sherlock held her for a long time, listening to her rapid breathing. He waited until she had calmed down some more before gently lying her back into bed. He stayed with her, curled up around her. He was still wearing his normal clothes but he couldn't bear to leave her. 

\-------------------------

Jemima woke up with a jolt yet again. She could see the rest of the night mapped out for her. Hours of falling asleep, having nightmares, waking up and having panic attacks. It was a vicious cycle, but one that she was painfully accustomed to. She looked over at Sherlock, he was sleeping peacefully. Jemima sighed and grabbed her mobile to phone the only person that she knew for sure would be awake. 

"Hello. Are you okay?" John asked as he answered the phone. There was a slight shakiness to his voice.

"No. You?" She said.

"No." He sighed. A faint firework sounded off in the background and she heard him breathe in sharply.

"I guess we just need to remember that it has to end at some point." She said. 

"Yeah, and then we just wait for next year." John sighed again.

"Is Mary asleep?" She asked.

"Yes." He replied.

Jemima smiled to herself. "Isn't it strange that before you even met Sherlock we were having  a conversation like this together, except we were in the same bed and now we're doing it again, but this time we both have different people next to us."

"Yes, funny how things work out, isn't it? I thought we were going to get married someday." He replied, she could tell by his voice that he was smiling.

"I think we made the right choice though. Do you?" She asked.

"For sure." He replied. Jemima could tell that he was looking at Mary. 

"I think the fireworks have stopped." John said before pausing to listen.

"Same here." Jemima replied. She glanced over at the the clock on her bedside table, it told her that it was a few minutes past one in the morning.

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep?" He asked her.

"Yes, for a time. Then I'll just wake up after having a nightmare and start all over again." She sighed.

"I think I'll be doing the same thing." He told her.

"And I'm sure we always will." She said.

"Remember remember the fifth of November." He joked bitterly.

"Goodnight John."

"Goodnight Jem."

Jemima shut of the phone with a sigh and put it back into her bedside table.

She turned to face Sherlock and snuggled back under the duvet. There was a chill in the air and she was glad of her husband's warmth. London was still awake but the skies were blissfully quiet. 

"You were with John?" Sherlock whispered, making her jump.

"I thought you were asleep." She said.

"You're not the only one with insomnia." He replied. "Did you really date John?"

"Yes, for a while actually." She told him. "Back in the old days."

"You never thought to tell me?" He asked, slightly hurt.

"It never came up. After we started dating I didn't really want you to know." She said.

"Why not?"

"Because I thought you'd see me differently. I thought it would make you like me less." She admitted, not meeting his gaze.

"I don't think I could ever like you less." He smirked. 

"Same here." She smiled back. "Anyway, just before he left the army we broke it off. We're better as friends. I didn't even see him again for two years after that."

"Do you still love him?" Sherlock asked.

"Yes, but as a friend." She assured him.

"Good."

"Why don't we try to get some sleep." She said, snuggling into his arms and resting her head on his chest. She listened to his gentle, rhythmic heartbeat, letting the sound fill her ears and relax her. 

"Alright." He replied, giving her a gentle kiss on the forehead. "I love you."

Jemima looked up at him and smiled. He didn't usually say 'I love you' first.

"I love you too." She said softly.


	12. I Told You So

"Sherlock Holmes! Put that microscope away or I'll leave without you!" Jemima shouted to Sherlock from the bottom of the stairs. They were on their way to an ultrasound scan, one of the last before the baby was due, and Sherlock had gotten sidetracked by an experiment.

"I'm here don't worry." He said, his coat billowing out behind him dramatically as he rushed down the stairs to catch up with her. 

"Finally. Let's get going." She smiled before pushing open the door. The cold early December air bit at their faces and they both pulled their soft scarves a little tighter. 

Sherlock hailed a taxi to get them to the hospital. The cab was heated and the warm air hit the as they opened the door. Their faces flushed with a red glow, complimenting their smiles. 

The waiting room was full of expectant and new mothers. Some of them were obviously there for their first ultrasound, shuffling awkwardly in their seats with excited yet apprehensive smiles. Some already had newborns mewling in their arms, black circles under their eyes indicating their lack of sleep. One woman waddled in, clearly in pain. She hung on her husband's arm for support and when she got to the desk, she doubled over with a contraction. Jemima clutched onto Sherlock's hand nervously and looked away. She still acutely remembered the pain she'd felt when she'd got a taste of what labour was like. 

A nurse emerged from one of the consulting rooms and looked around.

"Jemima Holmes?" She asked, craning her neck to see who stood. 

Jemima stood up and turned her back on the groaning woman gratefully, pulling Sherlock with her. The other soon to be mothers stared at her as she went. Again, Jemima felt like other mothers were already judging her, or maybe they recognised Sherlock. It was one of the two.

They walked in and the smiling nurse gestured for Jemima to lie down on the plain hospital bed that dominated the room. She sat down on the bed and got comfortable while Sherlock took the seat next to her. 

"If you just pull your top up a bit we can have a look and see what baby's doing." The smiley nurse told her, taking her place by the ultrasound machine. Jemima did as she was told and the nurse put some gel on her stomach. 

The nurse turned on the machine and looked around, trying to get the best picture of the baby. Suddenly, its head and arms swam into view and Jemima's heart skipped a beat. Sherlock reached forward and took Jemima's hand, squeezing it excitedly. He never got tired of seeing the little black and white picture of his baby. As far as technology went, it was quite simple but he was still mesmerised by the little shape of the baby moving about on the screen. 

"So," the nurse said. "Do you know if you're having a boy or a girl yet?" 

"No, not yet. Well, Sherlock thinks he knows but we can't be sure." Jemima smiled.

"What does he think it is?" The nurse asked.

"A girl." Sherlock interjected confidently.

"Well, actually he's right." The nurse told them.

Sherlock gave Jemima a triumphant smile while she frowned back at him huffily. 

"Lucky guess." She said bitterly.

"I told you it would be a girl." He grinned.

\---------------------

They were soon back in 221B and Sherlock was playing the violin again. Jemima and her huge bump were almost spilling out of John's armchair, and she was looking fondly at the ultrasound image she'd been given by the nurse. She soon realised that the tune was the one Sherlock had been composing for the baby. 

"We're going to have a daughter." She said softly, staring at the photo.

"Mmm." Sherlock said in reply, continuing to play.

"We need to think of names." She told him.

"I have a few in mind." He replied.

"Like what?" She asked.

"You'll have to wait and see. I haven't found the perfect one yet." He smiled, letting the melody drift around the room.

"I'm sure it will be more meaningful than anything I can think of." She replied.  

There was a pause and Jemima stared at Sherlock for a few seconds before asking him "Are you excited?" 

He stopped playing and contemplated it. "Yes. I never thought I would be, but yes I'm excited."

"You never thought you'd be a father?" She asked.

"No. I didn't think I was the type. I didn't think I could do it. And, until you came along I had nobody to have a child with." He explained.

"I think you're going to be amazing." She told him, standing up and walking over to embrace him. 

"You really think that?" Sherlock asked, surprised.

"Yes. Of course I do. You say that you detach yourself from all of your emotions but deep down you have a big heart. You're more capable of loving than you give yourself credit for." She smiled, looking deeply into his eyes. She could see that he was touched by what she'd said as his eyes softened. His expression seemed to thank her but he didn't say anything. He pulled her tightly to him and buried his head into her shoulder. She stroked his black curls fondly before he pulled back and kissed her softly.


	13. A Merry Little Christmas

It was Christmas Day and Jemima woke up to sunlight streaming in through the windows of Sherlock's childhood home. He was sanding by the window in his dressing gown watching the snow fall onto the frosty ground outside. He looked over when he heard his wife shuffle under the fluffy quilt. 

"Merry Christmas Jemima." He smiled.

"Merry Christmas Sherlock." She replied. "Merry Christmas bump." She gazed down at her huge stomach. Sherlock gave a small laugh.

She got out of bed and waddled over to him. She shivered against the draft coming in through the window, which was dripping condensation. Sherlock enveloped her in his arms to protect her from the chill.

"I don't think I've ever enjoyed the fact that it's Christmas this much before." He said pensively.

"Really?" She asked, swaying gently in his arms to try and relive her backache.

"I always hated Christmas. You've turned me soppy." He told her. 

"That's not entirely a bad thing though, is it?" She smiled and turned to face him.

"No. I suppose not." He smiled back.

"See?" She said, bopping him on the nose lovingly. "Sherlock Holmes does have a heart." 

"And it's all yours." He said, kissing her lightly on the lips.

\------------------------------

It wasn't long before both of them were dressed and had joined the action downstairs. John, Mary, Mycroft and Mr and Mrs Holmes were all sat around the fire cozily. They all whiled away the morning exchanging gifts and having fun. (Except Mycroft, who exchanged gifts but had no fun at all.)

Sherlock gave Jemima a brand new wooly scarf, since her old one had worn out, and a new microwave, because he'd put a severed head in the last one and she'd refused to cook with it. He also gave her a small necklace with a pendant that looked like a bumblebee, a nod to their teenage days where he'd called her Bea. She smiled knowingly at him and he was quick to fasten it around her neck. Jemima gave Sherlock brand new violin strings and an expensive microscope that he'd had his eye on for a while. He smiled with glee at the gift and thanked her profusely. She snuggled into him with a sigh and he pulled her closer.

"Ouch." She winced. Everybody in the room suddenly sat up and paid more attention, all of them on watch for any signs of the baby coming.

"What did I do?" Sherlock frowned.

"Don't worry, you just hugged me a bit tight. I have backache from the baby." She explained. Everyone visibly relaxed.

Mrs Holmes suddenly bustled back in after leaving to check the dinner. She'd been flustered all morning trying to get everything ready. Of course, she'd managed it perfectly.

"It's lunchtime." She announced cheerfully. Everyone stood up excitedly and made their way to lunch.

Jemima lagged behind slightly. 

"Are you okay dear?" Mrs Holmes asked, concern flickering in her face. 

"Yes I'm okay." she smiled back, pretending she hadn't just felt the painful twinge across her stomach. "It's just backache, I'll be fine."

\-----------------

"And then of course there was the case of the sweet shop owner - murdered in broad daylight and yet Sherlock still couldn't figure it out. You could have these cases solved in half the time if you actually opened your eyes brother mine, and yet you continue to miss the glaringly obvious." Mycroft smirked, continuing his annual tradition of roasting his little brother during Christmas dinner. It was the only fun he seemed to have at Christmas. 

"I actually do notice everything Mycroft , I solve cases that the whole of Scotland Yard put together couldn't solve." Sherlock retorted. John snorted with laughter.

"You really don't." Mycroft replied, a smug grin still on his face despite the retaliation.

"I do, I really do. You're just too busy playing prime minister to see it." Sherlock said angrily, beginning to get frustrated with his brother's comments.

"Well then, brother mine." Mycroft said , his voice dripping with sarcasm. "If you do indeed notice everything as you say you do, then why have you been missing the obvious for so long?" 

"What? What am I missing?" Sherlock asked frantically.

"Your wife is in labour right next to you and you have completely failed to notice. The contractions are short but regular and have been happening all through dinner." Mycroft said calmly. 

Sherlock looked round at Jemima and she looked back at him sheepishly. Mycroft shot him a smug look as if to say 'I told you so'.

"Why didn't you tell me?" He asked her, slightly hurt. 

"I didn't want you to fuss over me, it'll probably be a long time yet before it gets serious." She told him.

"Actually you're probably wrong there. Judging by your facial expressions they seem to be getting stronger and closer together. You should be getting another any minute now" Mycroft interjected.

"Shut up Mycroft." Sherlock snarled. He frowned at his brother until Jemima suddenly doubled over the table and let out a low moan. Sherlock started flapping over her, unsure of how to help.

"What do I do?" He said in a rush. "What do I do?"

"Just stay calm." Mary told him. "We'll see how things are progressing and then take you to hospital." 

"No, I'm fine, really I am." Jemima protested before gripping Sherlock's arm and groaning in pain again. Sherlock started flapping, clearly flustered.

"Come on dear."  
Mrs Holmes said gently, helping Jemima up. "I'll get you more comfortable in the sitting room." 

Jemima nodded weakly, holding onto Sherlock's mother heavily for support and clutching her stomach. Sherlock watched on, his face white as a sheet as his wife was helped onto the comfy sofa. He made to go to her but John, after seeing his expression, held him back. 

"Sherlock." He said gently, pulling his friend to the side.

"Yes?" Sherlock replied, his voice shaking slightly.

"I know that you're scared right now, and god knows you might not want to admit it, but you really need to calm down." He said quietly. Sherlock nodded. "I can tell that she's terrified right now and you flapping about is just going to make her worse. You need to get it together to help support her. She's really going to need it."

"I understand. Thank you John." Sherlock said, calming down slightly.

"Just take a few deep breaths and go out there and help her. She needs you there." John smiled, ushering him towards his wife.

Sherlock walked over to the sofa and sat down next to Jemima. He wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her close, taking one of her trembling hands in his. She leant her head on his shoulder and squeezed his hand tightly.

"Mary's just fetching the car to take you to hospital, she shouldn't be a minute." Mrs Holmes told Jemima, stroking her arm comfortingly.

Sherlock went pale as he saw the pain in his wife's eyes. She gripped his hand tightly and groaned as the next wave of pain hit her.

"They're getting worse." She mumbled into his shoulder.

"You're going to be fine, I promise." Sherlock reassured her, rubbing her back gently with his free hand. She let out another moan of pain.

"Breathe Jemima." He told her calmly, trying to pretend that he wasn't terrified. "Take deep breaths, stay calm."

It was then that Mary pulled up outside the house, ready to take her in the car. She was helped into the backseat, heavily relying on Sherlock and staggering as she went. They started off down the bumpy lanes, Sherlock holding his wife in the back seat, with John telling him how to help her from the passenger seat. Mary sped across the icy countryside at way above the speed limit while listening to the shouts of pain from behind her. 

"I thought you said it wouldn't happen on Christmas Day!" Jemima shouted at Sherlock angrily, bouncing up and down as the car skidded across rough ground.

"I told you it was unlikely not impossible!" Sherlock shouted back.

"It's your fault anyway! You were the one who knocked me up in the first place!" She argued.

"Okay, let's not have a domestic right now because I really don't think it's the right time." John said calmly, trying to restore order.

"She started it." Sherlock sulked, pouting like a grumpy toddler.

"I don't care, she's the one having the baby!" John replied. 

Jemima shouted again and Sherlock was immediately holding her tight again. She gripped his hand gratefully. He began to breathe deeply in and out and she matched her breaths to his to help calm her. 

"We're here." Mary told them, pulling into the hospital car park. It took both Sherlock and John to help Jemima across to the reception desk and Mary followed closely behind. 

Jemima was quickly given a wheelchair and taken to a private birthing room. John and Mary were shooed away by the nurses, and they shouted their messages of good luck down the corridor after her. 

Not long after Jemima had been taken to her room, the midwives told her to push. She quickly reduced to full-on screaming and she was gripping Sherlock's hand so hard he thought it was going to break. Her hands began to shake with the effort and Sherlock could see tears in her eyes. It was quite a long time before a baby's cry pierced the room and stunned everyone into silence. Jemima gasped quietly as the midwife handed her her baby, who was covered in blood and bawling, her tiny eyes screwed shut and miniature fingers balled tightly into fists. Sherlock took one look at his child, and fainted.


	14. Dawn

Sherlock opened his eyes and scanned the room blearily. The harsh, white hospital strip lights beat down on him as he tried to get his bearings. He was propped up in an uncomfortable-looking chair next to a hospital bed. He looked across to the bed and suddenly remembered everything. Jemima was sitting up, pale and exhausted but still smiling. She had the baby wrapped up in a blanket in her arms. She hadn't noticed that Sherlock was awake and as he watched her, she began to cry silently as she looked down at her child. She suddenly spotted him watching and gestured for him to come closer.

"Come and meet your daughter Sherlock." She whispered gently.

"What happened just then?" He asked, confused.

"You fainted. Now come over here." 

Sherlock got out of the chair and shuffled onto the bed next to her carefully. 

"What do you think?" Jemima asked.

Sherlock just blinked at his daughter, who was wriggling peacefully in her soft blanket. He was completely wordless and actually looked quite frightened. 

"She's very small." He said breathlessly after a very long pause. Jemima laughed a little.

"She needs a name." Jemima said.

Sherlock frowned, contemplating his options. 

"Aurora, Irene, Violet Holmes." He said, not taking his eyes off his daughter.

"How long have you been working on that?" Jemima asked, smiling. 

"A few weeks." Sherlock replied sheepishly.

"I love it." Jemima smiled.

"You do?" Sherlock said.

"I do. I think it's a perfect name." She said. Her eyes drifted from her husband to her daughter. She stroked her face gently and whispered. "Welcome to the world Aurora Irene Violet Holmes." 

They both stared at her for a second before Jemima asked. "Do you want to hold her Sherlock?"

"I um... Err..." He stuttered, looking nervous.

"Go on." Jemima encouraged him. "She wants her dad."

"I'm scared I'll break her." Sherlock admitted. "I've never been good with children."

"You won't, I promise. Here, take her." Jemima carefully placed Aurora into Sherlock's unsure arms. She had been sleeping peacefully but the motion woke her and she struggled about in the blanket, reaching out her arms towards Sherlock's face. He looked terrified at first but seemed to become more comfortable the more he held her.

"You okay?" Jemima asked, watching Sherlock's expression carefully. 

"Yes, I'm alright." He replied, smiling at his daughter. "Hello Aurora." 

Aurora let out a sleepy sigh and snuggled closer to Sherlock, clearly comfortable. She waved one tiny hand in the air and let it settle on Sherlock's chest. He stared at her tiny fingers, mesmerised. Jemima smiled, then eased herself under the covers for some sleep. She was completely exhausted and had been in labour for most of the night. She had just closed her eyes when she heard a small sniffle. Her eyes snapped open again. She looked up at Sherlock and saw that while he was staring at Aurora he was beginning to cry. Silent tears rolled down his cheeks and he had a caring smile on his face. Jemima couldn't remember the last time Sherlock cried. She'd never seen him look at anybody the way he looked at his daughter. It almost made her cry herself. She closed her eyes again, leaving him to have his moment.

Sherlock stood up, cradling Aurora. He wandered over to the large window that dominated the back of the room to give his baby the first view of the outside world beyond the hospital. 

"Look at that Aurora, the sunrise. That's what your name means you know. Dawn. Your mother had to work hard to get you here. Most of the night, in fact." He said softly, gently rocking her to keep her settled. "It's a strange world out there, there are a lot of good people, but there are bad ones too. You won't be one of them. You'll be helping me to catch them. I know you'll be just as clever as I am. You'll never be bored, I'll make sure of that. You can help me on cases when you're old enough. John helps me too. You'll like John, he's fantastic. He's always been there for me and I know he'll look out for you too." 

"I want to make a promise to you Aurora. I promise that I'll always do my best to take care of you and keep you safe." He assured her. "We'll have a great time, won't we? I love you so much already Aurora. And remember that, I don't say it often." Sherlock kissed his daughter on the forehead and walked with her back towards the bed. A small transparent cot stood next to Jemima's bed, laden with cosy blankets. He laid her down gently and she quickly settled in. He knew she'd be up in a few hours, wanting to be fed. He decided to get some sleep while he could. He got into the bed next to Jemima, still fully clothed and fell asleep next to his wife and new daughter as the sun rose outside, basking the room in a burnt orange glow.


	15. Homecoming

"I'm not staying in this place any longer than I have to." Jemima said, gathering up her things. The paediatrician had already seen Aurora and pronounced her fit and healthy. Jemima was eager to leave the hospital.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay another night, just to be sure?" Sherlock asked, Aurora gurgling quietly in his arms. 

"I'm very sure. As long as she's okay we can get the hell out of here." Jemima replied. 

They walked through the stark white corridors to the reception desk and Jemima discharged herself and Aurora. John and Mary were waiting outside to pick them up, anxious to see the new arrival. 

"Oh she's beautiful!" Mary cooed as soon as they came into view. 

"I suppose she is quite cute." Sherlock grinned, walking over with her. 

"She's amazing Sherlock." John said, reaching out and holding her tiny hand.

"Have you got a name yet?" Mary asked.

"Aurora Violet Irene Holmes." Jemima said proudly. 

"Irene?" John questioned, looking up at Sherlock with a frown.

"Sherlock picked it. I think it's lovely." Jemima replied. 

"It's a lovely name for a very cute girl." Mary grinned, cooing over Aurora again.

"Would you like to hold her John?" Sherlock asked his friend, smiling proudly.

"Of course. Come 'ere." He replied, gently taking Aurora into his arms. 

They all piled into Mary's car and John handed Aurora back to Sherlock with a smile. He clutched her tightly to protect her from the bumps in the road, since they hadn't thought to bring the car seat with them. The rocking of the car and the warm comfort of her father's arms was enough to send Aurora to sleep. Jemima nodded off as well, her head lolling onto Sherlock's shoulder as she slept. She looked pale and exhausted, yet she was smiling in her sleep. 

Mary pulled up outside Sherlock's parents' house and they all got out. John carried Jemima's bags, as she looked as if she was about to fall asleep where she stood. She smiled at him gratefully and walked over to Sherlock. 

"Are you excited?" She asked.

"Hmm?" He said, snapping out of his thoughts.

"About showing Aurora to your parents for the first time." Jemima replied.

"Oh, that. Yeah, a bit." He told her with a small smile. 

They got to the door and rang the bell to signal their return. 

"Here goes then." Sherlock grinned. Jemima nodded back at him.

They heard loud, rushed footsteps from inside and the door was pulled open by Sherlock's mother, his father close behind. 

"Oh she's beautiful Sherlock!" Mrs Holmes gasped, ushering them all in. Sherlock couldn't help but grin. 

As they walked into the sitting room, Mrs Holmes took another look at her grandchild and started to cry with happiness. Sherlock handed Aurora to her, being careful not to wake her. Mrs Holmes continued crying quietly, gazing down at the grandchild she never thought she'd have. 

"What's her name?" Sherlock's father asked, stroking her tiny fingers.

"Aurora Irene Violet Holmes." Sherlock replied. Mycroft snapped his head up at the mention of the name Irene. He gave Sherlock a sideways glance, but let it go, just as John had. Irene had obviously meant a lot to Sherlock and naming his child after her was, in his mind, a perfect salute to 'The Woman'.

"She's perfect." Sherlock's mother said tearfully.

Jemima saw Mycroft skulking in a corner and went over to him. He was watching Sherlock smiling proudly with his parents from across the room. 

"Come and see her." Jemima said. 

"I'm not sure. I've never been good with children." Mycroft frowned. 

"Come on." Jemima coaxed him gently. "That's your niece over there."

Mycroft still looked dubious. Sherlock turned and saw them standing together. He gestured for Mycroft to come and see. Mycroft hesitated, but Sherlock's pleading eyes brought him to the other side of the room. He realised that Sherlock probably just wanted his approval. He still wanted to make Mycroft proud, even after all these years. Everyone else saw the emotionless consulting detective, the addict, obsessed with murder and crime. Mycroft still saw the little boy with the unruly black hair who used to run to him and push a wooden sword into his hand, begging him to play pirates. The little boy who cried when he fell and scraped his knees. The little boy who had no friend but his dog, who was so unsure in the world and always needed looking after. He walked over and stood next to Sherlock. 

"What do you think?" Sherlock asked him, a hopeful smile on his face.

"You've done well brother mine." He said with a smile. Sherlock grinned and puffed out his chest proudly. Mycroft recalled 10 year old Sherlock doing exactly the same thing.

"But I daresay that your wife did most of the work, and therefore should have the credit." Mycroft continued. Sherlock smiled again, putting an arm around Jemima's shoulders and pulling her close. 

"Mother, I think that Aurora might like to meet her Uncle Mycroft." Sherlock suggested. 

"No, no, I really don't think I ..." Mycroft began, flustered.

"Nonsense Mike. Your brother's right. Just hold her at least once." Mrs Holmes interrupted.

"Very well." Mycroft sighed and took the small bundle into his arms stiffly.

Mycroft's face softened as he looked down at Aurora. He could already see so much of his brother in her face. He remembered being seven years old and Sherlock coming home for the first time, when his mother had been having a nap he'd leant over the side of the tiny Moses basket to see his little brother. He'd promised then to look after him, and looking at Aurora he felt the same need to protect her. He realised that everyone was staring at him, and he stiffened up again, eager to keep up his cool exterior.

"I think that's quite enough." He said, handing her to Sherlock.

"She is cute though, you have to admit." Jemima grinned.

"If you insist." He replied. "Anyway, as lovely as this all is, I should be getting back to London. I have pressing matters to attend to." 

\---------------------

"Are you sure you have to go too?" Mrs Holmes frowned, watching her son pack his bags. "And so soon? You're welcome to stay another night." 

"I'm sure mother. I didn't anticipate the baby coming on Christmas Day so we've already run out of supplies for the baby." Sherlock told her. He zipped up the bag after throwing the last of his dirty laundry into it. 

"Alright." She conceded. "I'll go and wake Jemima if you're ready to go." 

"No need." Jemima interrupted, walking in with the baby in her arms. "I'm ready if you are Sherlock."

"Yes, we should go now, we have a taxi waiting." He said impatiently.

"It's been lovely to see you. Please visit us soon." Sherlock's father said, giving him a hug before he could wriggle out of it.

"I'll make sure he does, even if I have to drag him all the way here." Jemima assured them. She gave them both warm hugs and let them say goodbye to Aurora.

They dragged everything to the door just as a taxi pulled up outside. Sherlock's parents watched from the doorway as they put their things in the boot of the car and waved them off as it pulled away from the gate and rumbled off down the country roads.


	16. Aurora's Lullaby

It was early evening by the time the taxi rolled into the bustling mass of London. A cold winter's night had already set in and the the city was cloaked in darkness. The city lights shone brightly in defiance of the night. The bright christmas lights decorated every street and the tiny bulbs twinkled furiously. They reflected off the glistening icy pavements, throwing up intricate patterns as the taxi rumbled past. Aurora opened her eyes sleepily in Sherlock's arms. She couldn't see much at all, but she still seemed to notice the pattern of the lights dancing on each building they passed. Jemima held one of her tiny hands, letting her soft, delicate fingers pass through hers as she stared up at the rooftops.

The familiar door of 221B came into view and Sherlock passed the baby to Jemima. He got out and began to unload the things from the boot. Jemima was left to pay the cabbie.

"Let's give Mrs Hudson a shock." Sherlock smirked mischievously as they walked up to the door. 

"D'ya think we'll kill her?" Jemima laughed, taking her door key from her jacket pocket. 

"It's not entirely impossible." Sherlock grinned.

"Welcome home Aurora." Jemima smiled as she pushed open the door. "Mrs Hudson! We're home!"

They exchanged a glance as the footsteps of their landlady rushed closer. Mrs Hudson poked her head around the door, wearing a wide smile. She took one look at Aurora and almost fainted, her eyes bulging. 

"Since when did this happen?" She exclaimed, rushing forward excitedly. Sherlock and Jemima grinned at each other again.

"Yesterday, at dinner." Jemima explained. "Mycroft noticed it first."

"Well naturally he would." Mrs Hudson nodded. Sherlock looked scandalised. "She's beautiful. I can see she's got your cheekbones Sherlock."

Her comment seemed lighten his mood and he smile again. "Her name's Aurora." 

"Oh that's lovely!" Mrs Hudson replied. She suddenly began to reminisce. "You know, I used to know someone called Aurora, back in America. She used to do dancing with me."

"Yes I think that's quite enough about you and your dancing. Come along Jemima." Sherlock interrupted. 

"I will get to have a cuddle later though, won't I?" Mrs Hudson called after them.

"Of course you will." Jemima assured her with a smile.

Sherlock was immediately rushing around 221B trying to get everything ready for Aurora. 

"I've got the nappies and the baby monitor ready and I've predicted the times when she should need a feed and if we go to bed in at least four hours then we should get enough sleep to be properly rested tomorrow and -" Sherlock babbled, rattling off his list at twice the pace of normal human speech.

"Sherlock, calm down." Jemima said firmly, putting a gentle hand on his shoulder and looking him in the eye. "You're getting too worked up. We need to be relaxed for her sake. She can tell if we're stressed."

"Okay. Okay. Okay." Sherlock repeated, trying to slow himself down and relax. 

He walked over to his armchair and sat down heavily. He began to tap his foot impatiently, his fingers tented under his chin. He was twitchy, and couldn't seem to sit still.

"What's wrong Sherlock." Jemima asked.

"What? No, of course not. Nothing's wrong nothing at all I'm fine perfectly fine and okay and calm and relaxed and everything." He said, too quickly.

"Sherlock."

"Alright, fine! There is something wrong." He exclaimed loudly, making Jemima jump. "I have no idea what I'm doing, I'm really out of my depth and I'm scared that I'm going to do it wrong so I'm just trying to make everything perfect. That's all." 

"You're doing fine." Jemima assured him, stroking his arm gently. He stood up to face her and she pressed her forehead against his lovingly. Aurora gurgled happily in Jemima's arms, sandwiched between them. Sherlock looked down and took one of her tiny hands in his, sighing.

"Do you think we'll do it right?" Sherlock asked.

"I don't think there really is a right or wrong way. I think we just need to make her happy. That's all that matters." Jemima told him. 

"She looks sleepy. Shall we see if she'll go to bed?" He asked.

Jemima nodded and they walked with a sleepy Aurora to their bedroom. For the first few weeks, they had a Moses basket at the end of their bed, just to make sure they were there for her when she needed them. Jemima lowered her in carefully, tucking the soft yellow blanket around her and placing a tiny toy bear by her feet. The basket could rock gently from side to side, so Sherlock sat on the end of his bed, pushing it softly.

"I know the particular sequence of rocking motions that are most likely to send her to sleep." He told her. 

"No need. Look at her." Jemima smiled, seeing that Aurora was already fast asleep. 

Sherlock still didn't know quite what to feel, and a complex cocktail of emotion stirred in his stomach as he watched her sleep. One emotion stood out from the rest, however, one that was easily recognisable. Love. 

\-----------------------

"She's really not going back to sleep." Jemima told him, almost on the brink of tears herself, carrying a screaming Aurora around the room, trying desperately to calm her. 

"Have you fed her and changed her?" Sherlock asked sleepily. 

"I've done both and she's still not happy." Jemima said, totally exasperated.

"Wait there." Sherlock said, leaping out of bed and going to the sitting room. He grabbed his violin and rushed back. 

The gentle notes of the song that he'd composed for Aurora drifted around the room. At first they were drowned out by her screaming but as he went on, she began to quieten. Soon she was completely silent, relaxed and happy in her mother's arms. Sherlock continued to play for a while even after she'd drifted off and been placed back kno her bed. He swayed with the music as he played, almost waltzing around the room as he weaved the notes together. He stopped at the end of the piece and walked over to her bed. He stroked her cheek with one delicate finger.

"There now." He whispered. "All better."


End file.
